


Bat & Beauty

by Moonsetta



Series: Beauty and the Bat [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Beauty and the Beast (1991), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Romance, Transformation, curse, red rain au, spell, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsetta/pseuds/Moonsetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Beauty and the Bat.</p>
<p>Love. Loss. And Acceptance of Death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [matan4il](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matan4il/gifts).



> Another sequel? OK, just someone answer me this: Do people honestly tend to demand sequels a lot or am I just good at them?
> 
> Second of all. Are you crazy? It took all of my courage to write Beauty and the Bat. Despite being a romance critic Beauty and the Beast is my favorite movie...EVER! Keep that in mind. Argo, the sequels: An Enchanted Christmas and Belle's Magical World really...anger me. Like-a lot. And I'm just on the proverbial edge here of...how do I not screw this up?
> 
> OK, here's my shot at a sequel to Beauty and the Bat. Whatever writing spirits exist-please be with me!
> 
> NOTE: This is a sequel to the original posting of the story with the sad ending. This is NOT connected to the alternate happy ending. Got it?

_Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince wept at the loss of the one he loved. Although the spell that had transformed him had been broken, he found himself falling back into despair. But then, one spring evening, he stole away from his Manor to begin a journey to locate the Enchantress that had cast the spell. Blindly thrust back into a world now so alien, the prince sneered at the world and hid himself into the shadows, traveling only at night. Repulsed now by the face he used to take pride in and had missed he grew to hate his own reflection for what it had cost him. Ashamed of his appearance he stalked the shadows of cities in a dark cloak, with the magic mirror as his only window to the past and his home. The rose that had symbolized his end for so long was now sealed in an envelope that he kept against his heart, which was now little more than a twig. If he could locate the Enchantress he would convince her to return his lost love to him; even if she demanded he retain the spell for eternity. As time passed, he fell into despair once again, and lost hope, for how could he ever hope to defeat death?_

[](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/MoonsettaRays/media/bat%20and%20beauty2_zpsraczfckg.jpg.html)


	2. Certain as the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wait. Watch. Pray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chello people! Well-an explanation. I finally got a break from school and my parents decided to take the break to go visit family and friends back where we used to live. So I wasn't here. And I'm struggling with US so I decided -why not write a little of this? And of course my second quarter has started so I've got more difficult classes now. But good news is that one of the classes is Composition! So I have to write as an assignment! Ah, it's always a dream come true!
> 
> Still hoping this isn't a big screw up.

Look at me parodying Disney!

[](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/MoonsettaRays/media/B%20and%20B/disney%20moonsetta%20paraody_zpsgstlggzi.jpg.html)

I need to do more of these. They're rather fun. Anyone want one?

* * *

He tried not to think, just feel. Though focusing on sensation made him think too and in the end it didn’t help. He'd thought too much and he'd felt too much; but he couldn’t bring himself to care for anything beyond the rose in his hand and the still figure in his bed. The Prince had to look though. He had to ensure the rose was still perfect; that everything was not a dream. Not along the nightmares he first had when he was 15 and met the consequences of his ways; but where if he was too of one thought or emotion he felt he would crush the life in his claws. 

Yes claws, folded over on one another around the thin stem of the object that had once been his personal torture but was now a lifeline for his love. It was beautiful and clashed horribly against the once again, blackened skin of his hands. Each of which were dark and dusty as coal. He supposed the contrast of the lightened blue rose might have gifted him some warmth and it did-if only he hadn't needed to-

No! He shook the thought from his head and glanced up and away from the rose and his musings. 

The hallway of the West Wing was dark, as it had been long before-would continue to be as it lacked windows, lighting and very few people were allowed even near his rooms. Until he knew this would work.

The area was still tidied up from where the household had given it a recreating during...their final night.

The Prince swallowed the lump in his throat and continued his steps forward. The entire Manor had been quiet upon his return. So much that he might have assumed it deserted if his once again enhanced hearing hadn't picked up the distant sound of Alfred scrubbing pots and pans in the kitchen. 

Finally reaching his bedroom's doors he took only a moment to appreciate that they were open and freshly dusted before he took a deep breath and stepped inside. 

It didn't look that much different from what he remembered. The reconstructed furniture, the repainted walls and replaced carpet beneath his feet. The room was still built of a perimeter of sitting furniture, cushioned chairs, love seats and even a small informal dining set with a recently washed tablecloth over a wood stained garden table. The far wall hosted two clusters of bookshelves and a lowered floor covered in thin polished marble to reflect light and center a pair of dancers. It wasn't nearly as grand as the ballroom downstairs but it would do for more personal interactive dances. The floor was now colored in warm dark tan and the walls a very light blue. 

And last but not least...the bed.

It was something grand. An extra-large king with a grand canopy, embellished designs of redwood, gold and blue marble, and optional drop curtains; mattresses stuffed with down and overlain by sheets of silk and blankets of Egyptian cotton. 

-No expense had been spared. Even if the still body lying atop it crushed the entire world the objects had been attempting to convey. 

Dick Grayson. Still. Silent. Shale.

None of it was right but the Prince, now a Beast again, glanced down at the rose and forced hope out from somewhere. It had to work; they had a deal. Besides, the Enchantress had said that she wouldn't be far. Had said that she'd be watching.

Holding his breath, he quickly shuffled forward and bent over to lay the glowing rose over Dick's still heart.

  
[ ](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/MoonsettaRays/media/B%20and%20B/sequels%20scene3_zpsj2g9ovrq.jpg.html)

Wait. Watch. Pray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this was a short chapter I'll post the next chapter ASAP.


	3. Rising in the East

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this up directly after chapter 2 yesterday but I couldn't because-class. Sorry about that.

In the spry large city of Metropolis, people burned light well into the late nights. In a corner of an off street where no lights shined at all, an exchange was taking place. Pennies, pounds, dollars and gold leveled out against human flesh. A man in his fifties with graying hair and a figure in a nearby shadow-laden doorway with an arm around another smaller limp figure.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

"Got it?"

"Of course I do. Here."

The visitor passed over a cloth pouch. The host reached out and snatched it up with long ugly fingernails on a pale white hand. He shook it once and then twice and then pulled it towards his chest to stuff it inside the cloak that kept him hidden away. There a visible grin with stained-yellow teeth appeared and then he stepped forward to fling the unconscious body at the man's feet.

"All yours. Try not to break it too fast."

The elderly man grinned and crouched down to collect his prize-

Only to receive an uppercut that sent him flying backwards and sprawling across the nearby dirt road. His eyes cleared quickly and he rose up to yell at the trader but only sucked in a gasp when he found said trader being pressed into the ground by a large black boot on his throat. His eyes followed the curve of the block-footwear and gulped in fright at first sighting clawed hands, large dark bat wings and finally a face decorated with pointy ears, blood stains and white empty eye sockets.

"Va-va-VAMPIRE!"

He scrambled to his feet and took off towards the police station, praying it wouldn't jump on him from behind. 

Back at the trading post, the cloaked figure growled into the face of the cloaked trader.

"I've been looking for you...Piper."

The cloak figure's hood fell back and revealed a gnarled old face. Magic disguise, the Prince guessed and pressed harder with his boot on the throat below him. Maybe he would have been worried about the police. Maybe.

But after so much time he'd gotten too good at escape. 

"What do-you...want?"

"Information. I'm looking for The Enchantress."

Lifting his boot from the Piper's throat he narrowed his eyes, letting them flash brightly in the dark night. The gnarled man coughed and glanced up in curiosity; his eyes much too clear for his portrayed elderly age. As expected, the voice that escaped was of a young youth. Well-more specifically a young youth that had remained as such for far too long. 

"Talk."

"En-Enchantress? Open your eyes Gramp Vamp. There's dozens of beings in this world that claim the title of Enchantress."

"She traveled through Gotham City 10 years ago. Know anything?"

The Prince picked up the Piper by his throat, letting his sharp fingertips dip into the sides of his neck and growling, baring sharp fangs a mere few inches from his face. 

"M-Ma-Maybe. What do you want to know?"

"Where do I find her here and now?!"

"Well-I'd need some motivation..."

The Prince grunted and used both arms to bring the Piper up and over his head.

"How about you tell me what you know and I don't snap your spine in two?"

The Piper struggled and yelled out, "OK! OK!"

"Talk!" the vampire spat, still holding the Piper up, ready to go through with his spine snapping if the fool tried to change his mind. 

"Ugh! Used the guise of an old beggar woman. She left for the nearby abandoned Lanimret Monastery. It's on the plateau on the other side of Metropolis. The last time anyone saw her was four years ago."

"Is that all?!" the Prince growled and went to bring the Piper down on his knee and-

"That's all I know I swear!"

Annoyed he dropped the Piper and laid the steel plate in his gauntlet along the back of the Magi's head, not successfully knocking him out but leaving him stunned long enough for the police. The Prince checked on the crumpled form the Piper had been attempting to sell off to a pervert and found the round face of a young red headed boy with pale skin and blue eyes that were clouded over due to some kind of drug. He found no injuries on the boy and simply waited until he heard the sounds of the new police sirens Metropolis was testing before he melted back into the shadows and made his way onto a back pebbled road, which he quickly crossed and slipped into the underbrush of the surrounding woods.

Glancing back onto the distant dirt road he saw the investigators arrive and cart off the piper; but the Prince turned his back before he could spot any of the officers going into the building. He didn't know what the Piper had hidden away but he found himself not caring much. It wasn't his goal-he had a plateau to find and a Monastery to examine. 

The plateau was easy enough to locate past a sprawling farm house outside of the city but the Monastery was hidden not in the woods or behind some convenient cave behind a waterfall. It was hidden within the carved out cliff sides on the plateau's north slope. It was easy enough to grapple down into the over curve of the rocks with his lines but the Prince's newest rise of enthusiasm had now quieted. What wild goose chase was he on now? 34? 47? 296? Why did he even bother counting any longer? He wasn't going to stop unless death caught him first and the stilled image ironed into his brain of the one he loved lying still and silent in his arms drove him onward. The chill of the body, the stillness of limbs, the silence of his presence and the everlasting smell of congealed blood on his chest. 

He couldn't live with it-so he HAD to change it.

The Monastery he came upon had great stone pillars that stretched up to the top of cliff and multiple doorways leading inwards to tunnels he would more than likely get lost in. Kind of missing his beast-senses again he huffed at the pillars and ignored the acute printings of some forgotten foreign tongue on the walls between them. Determined he glanced about for signs of life. The crumbling rocks of time had left heavy layers of dust on some areas and less on others. An occasional soft updraft of wind he could barely pick up with his human ears floated up from the cavern even further below that would never reach the top of the plateau; scooping up the latest layer of dust and turning to throw it back down into the chasm. 

He spotted no obvious footsteps or conveniently pressed into the dusty surfaces hand prints in either doorway nor were there any dropped items that would have proven the area recently habitable. Despair wrapping itself around him again he gritted his teeth and turned around sharply.

The Piper would pay-!

He almost even took out his grapple line and spikes when his sharp eyes spotted something out of the norm: in the far right doorway there was a single distinct difference from the others. It was small; only the smallest shift in sight and the Prince might have missed if not for that small breeze moving the threads. Within the top curve of every doorway were interconnections of spider webs.

...Except for this last one.

The webs within the final doorway had been ripped through by something either airborne or...really tall.

He tried not to jump to the conclusion-but the image so long ago of his once fifteen year old self already standing at six feet being towered over by the Enchantress made his throat tighten. 

Could this be it?

Had he found her? Finally?

How long had it even been?

He sucked in a quiet breath, tensed his muscles and quietly crept into the dark hallway, turning his body to grab onto the wall to guide himself. He couldn't risk a light yet. If he caused her to run it would be an even longer journey before he could locate her again and attempt to convince her. Breathing barely comprehensible to his own body he took slow steps; listening as rock shifted and sometimes fell in the distance back outside. Strange how there was no sound from within though. As if something was keeping crumbling rock from sliding loose, falling and shattering. 

...He settled the hope tightening his throat again and carried on; careful step after careful step. 

After what felt like hours his eyes finally flew straight ahead, grasping onto the sudden sight of an open light at the end of the maze of tunnels. Hoping he hadn't gotten turned around somewhere he widened his steps and pushed himself away from the wall, keeping a single hand against the awkwardly cornered stones he rushed forward as much as he just dared. His eyes scrambled to make out any details and though the long pointed ears were long gone from his form-he felt the ghost twitch of them wanting to bend forward in a desperate attempt to capture any possible sound. He finally heard a single clink of what sounded like glass against glass and he took a very deep breath. Too deep and the clink of glass came to a halt.

No. 

He stopped suddenly and held his breath. For a long minute he stood there and just listened. Finally though...the clink of glass continued and he breathed lightly once again. Once he had his breath back he continued his travel, this time ensuring that his footsteps were lighter than before. Within a few minutes he finally reached the end of the tunnel and came upon a close standing wall some three feet out into a forward corridor that was reflecting the warm colors of what could only be a fire inside. For a moment he questioned the possibility-this cavern would have been full of smoke, the room didn't feel any warmer to him than the tunnel and the wind didn't reach this far into the catacombs. So why and how was there a fire?

He considered it not actually being a fire until his ears picked up the distinct crackling of burning wood; despite there being no smoke or smell of ash. Holding his breath again he cautiously peeked out, looking one way and finding nothing and then the other and finding-

A fire.

To the right of the tunnel was a small campfire sitting in front of a tent made up on sticks and an old patched green blanket. The fire was enclosed by round white stones and most strangely; there were three bowls sitting around the fire on the ground. Two composed of what appeared to be metal and the third that had been carved out of wood. 

No one was there though and the sound of glass on glass had stopped. The Prince drew himself up to his full height and walked determinedly out into the opening. He heard nothing but the fire though he got close enough to glance inside the maticulously placed bowls. To his shock each one held an array of colorful gems and crystals with the wooden bowl's single blue crystal placed upright along the side and miniscule bits of dust falling down one of its edges, like someone had been grinding it for powder. Though he couldn't spot a grinder or any tool that would be used for one anywhere. 

He walked over to the fire and crouched down to place his gloved hand at the end of the flames.

Still no heat or smoke. Hmm...sorcery. It had to be!

But what were the chances that this was The Enchantress he seeked? 

Glancing up he took in the view of the ratty tent, leaning forward and coincidently sticking his hand into the fire-which still didn't burn him, but found nothing inside. The floor was the same stone as the rest of the cavern and there were no items within to show that anyone was using it. Most would take it as a dead end...

-But magic could be very tricky that way.

Pulling his hand out of the fire and examining his undamaged gloves for a moment he got back up onto his feet and turned around to stare up at the cavern. No falling rocks, no leaking water and...no insects. That was weird but probably his answer. He risked it, clencing his hands into fists and drawing out his darkest voice.

"I know you're here Enchantress! Show yourself!"

Silence.

He shifted a single foot, scraping away a bit of surface stone dust from the floor and waited for something. For a voice, an appearance, a loud explosion...anything.

"You know-"

The Prince shot around towards the fire and jumped back, raising his hands in defense. Even after he took in the lovely creature he only growled and tensed up while The Enchantress finished her sentence.

"-you look ridiculous in that costume."

He glared and the nine foot tall magi glared right back-unafraid of his glare that he had spent his journey perfecting. Of course it would have no affect on her-why would it?

"Forget how I look. Bring him back!"

The tall woman took in the costume that covered her once victim's body and couldn't quite grasp the reality of it.

"You've broken the spell. Yet here you stand-"

She raised her right hand, which held her magic wand gently, and the blue crystal that had been grounded slightly jumped from the wooden bowl and grew multiple times in midair, settling down in front of The Prince; acting as a mirror.

"In a facsimile attempt at your transformation. Why?"

Growling the Prince stepped away from the reflection he hated and continued to attempt to glare the Enchantress down. It still wasn't working even after all of the practice he had had!

"Bring him back!"

"Who broke the spell?"

"Bring him back!"

"Control yourself your highness. I have no idea who you're talking about."

"...the one I love. Bring him back-now!"

The Enchantress breathed out an unnecessary sigh and shook her head before stating, "You broke the spell be content with that."

"NO!"

The magi woman moved herself away from her tent and around the opposite side of the fire as the Prince to shrink down the blue crystal and let it drop into her left hand.

"If you killed him that's your own problem."

"I didn't!"

"I don't care...your Highness. Whoever he is-he is not my concern."

She leaned sideways to slip the crystal into the wooden bowl but jerked back when something shattered it before her very eyes. She quickly glanced back up and found the Prince in a post-thrown posture. Looking down she found the bowl had been shattered by a dark colored projectile shaped into the image of a bat. 

She threw the question towards him in silence and he merely responded curtly.

"I wanted you to remember me. The man I love was taken from me and you're going to get him back."

The Enchantress let out a scoff and let the crystal in her hand drop onto the ground among its sprawled companions. 

"Fool. Cheating death requires manipulation of supernatural magic and sacrifice."

"I'll give anything."

The Enchantress raised an eyebrow of superiority while asking, "Really? What would you give? Your own life? No. Then there's no chance for your little diluted Happily Ever After."

"He didn't deserve it," the Prince muttered.

"What else? I can't cast the same spell twice. Perhaps you'd enjoy a curse instead? I can make it last for eternity right here, right now."

The Prince gulped and took a quick step back to let his black cloak fall forward to hide his hand.

"Then do it. Just give him back."

"Sure you don't want to think about that? What if I give him life and decide he's better off having never known you?"

The Prince's head shot straight up and his glare grew darker as he growled, "I earned his love once and I'll do it again."

"Who said I would I make it that easy?"

Fists shaking the Prince dropped to his knees, flashing back to when he had done this years before. When he had been on his knees begging for forgiveness from the same being. Here he was again, begging because he didn't have another way to fix this. 

"Please. I'm sorry...I'm sorry. I beg you, please bring him back to me. I know what it's like now to...l--lo...love. I need it. I need him."

Silence.

Silence.

-And then...

"You are no different Prince. You're not here for his life, you're here because you're hurt and you think I can wave my magic wand and make all of that pain go away. You're no different. Still the same selfish Prince I asked for help."

The Prince's downcast gaze rose again and the glare was less efficient as his eyes were shining behind his mask.

"It's been ten years. How long are you going to punish me for one mistake I made in my youth?"

"Stop your sniveling-it's unbecoming of a Prince you know..."

Silence.

The Enchantress huffed and raised her wand again. The Prince nearly jumped as the mirror he carried with him beneath his cloak flew out and snapped into the Enchantress' left hand.

"Show me the night."

The Night? The Prince forced away a choke as he made a guess. It could only be one night she was watching in the mirror-when Dick fell with that bullet and the Prince watched his eyes cloud over in death. In little time at all the Enchantress appeared satisfied with what she saw and tossed the mirror at his feet which he quickly scrambled to catch before it broke against the floor. Successful he tried to spot the familiar scenery in the mirror but stopped short when what he found in the mirror was NOT the night his love had died in his arms but a different dark night. One still all too familiar to him and causing his heart to drop into his stomach. 

Two bodies.

Two people he had conditioned himself to never think of again. The ones whose pictures he had went through the Manor and torn from the walls before tossing them into the fire. Sorrowful that they were gone. Angered that they had left him. Betrayed that he had been abandoned. 

"I'll return you love's life-when you can let your parents go, Bruce Wayne."

[](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/MoonsettaRays/media/B%20and%20B/mirror%20scene_zpsfmwqjvar.jpg.html)  
  



	4. Tale as old as Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back peoples! YAY! At least I feel YAY!
> 
> Here's a long overdue update. My readers are awesome!

He ignored the farmer with black hair and blue eyes that offered him some fresh fruit.

He spat at the green clad archer near the forest that offered him a drink.

He grunted at the muscular woman who tried to engage him in a conversation.

He turned away from the blonde siren singer who offered him her parasol.

He sidestepped the handshake of an officer with a large ring.

He returned no greeting to the young blonde lady who cheerfully said, "Hi!"

He only raised an eyebrow at the elderly doctor who attempted to glare him down. 

He stepped around the happy blonde fisherman that was willing to gift him part of his catch.

It was his own fault. He looked like someone who needed a good meal and he hadn't had a drink for a while. He was clad in black and the summer sun was beating down harshly on his way back to Gotham City from Metropolis. The mirror was hidden beneath the folds of his jacket and the rose stem still pressed against his heart. The glass surface of the mirror still frozen within a majority of darkness and merely a distant single white light that would showcase the image he feared if he looked too close. It wouldn't do him any good to glance at it again but honestly-the image hadn't haunted him enough?

Images-He reminded himself.

One bullet. Goodbye Father.

Another bullet. Goodbye Mother.

A third. Goodbye Love. 

Gunshots would echo through his mind through eternity from that first night and he couldn't see beyond the dirt along the path he was walking. Metropolis had already laid down stone streets and had factories rising in the center of the city. Gotham, his once beloved city, was far behind. 

...

How do you forget the past when you’re trapped within it?

[](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/MoonsettaRays/media/B%20and%20B/clock%20rose_zpsa0vcmtbs.png.html)

* * *

The road stretched on for two days. When he felt like walking-he walked. When he felt like running-he ran. When he felt like eating-he ate. And when he felt like sleeping-he dreamed.

Dreams he couldn't quite remember when he awoke.

Only the faded smell of gunpowder echoed in his senses. In an abstract kind of way he knew he was heading home; but it was a home that seemed so removed from himself. Had the normality of his days really been altered by a single person in his life? He supposed it could be true; but he wasn't so ignorant to not realize that it hadn’t been his love alone. The Prince had had to change and had made that decision. It was the only way he could ever hope to be free of the spell. Here he was without it-with nothing but a veiled promise he wasn't certain he could trust. 

But what choice did he have?

Eyes on the road a few feet ahead, never wavering-he continued his travel. One last road to Gotham City. Wayne Manor. Home. Where else was there to go anyway?

The road was like the others-still dirt with occasional stray rocks here and there. Gotham had fallen behind-become isolated-been forgotten. He wondered off at his parents' previous financial success in the marketplace. Perhaps he could do the same?

He stopped, reached into the fold of his jacket and pulled out the magic mirror. It was still frozen-a small white light in the distance with two prone fallen figures.

He gulped, put away the mirror and continued on. The whole movement covering perhaps five seconds before there were too many memories of blood and gunpowder. 

Night was over his path now and the stars were bright as he neared the limit marker to Gotham. He never really remembered just looking at them before. And for a minute he let his mind get lost in fantasy. Let the picture flash into life behind his eyes. 

_They were on the rooftop with midnight hanging above their heads and a gentle breeze slightly rustling the season's rich, green leaves across the Manor's grounds. There was a subtle scent of the herbs Alfred enjoyed growing rolling through the air. Each star was discreetly winking in and out as if winking at them. An old tale show._

_It was the calm before the storm but they were fine._

_Human skin on human skin as he leaned over to slide his hand down his love's arm. The Prince holding his breath as the brightest day's sky reflected back from his companion's eyes. It made him so happy as he leaned in-ready to seal everything with a kiss. The night, the day, the moment, the city, the Manor, him and the promise of the future._

_He just...  
_

And just as it was come to pass:  
He lost it as he always would. For all that he was in love, for all that he had proof that Dick had returned his feelings-they had never shared such intimate touch. All he had to cling to was the touch from feeding robins, the high wire hug and the dance where distance was a tease among their movements. A little bit closer, a little bit further. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat...

All of that and they had never even kissed. 

Perhaps he could have during his own death-if the magic hadn't saved him.

Kicking a stray stone he snapped back to the reality around him. He found himself half way through the small city. Most houses and businesses were already dark. He never would have guessed that the citizens had very little of any night-time lives. He spotted two lights on across the road. One a convenient store and the other strangely a small cafe.

What would it have been like out here? Shopping? Going to a cafe? Strolling the streets of your free will?

It should have been world shattering to him. 

-But he had no energy to be much amazed. 

He took note of an ice cream parlor long shut down that he vaguely remembered in his youth and continued on, his eyes resting on a distant lit trailer at the end of the path veering left. Each step carried him closer to the reality he wanted to ignore and he tried to fight it.

It wasn't to be as his feet pushed on towards his destination: a lush grassy field on the far edge of a rent lot. Temporary stables were surrounding a dark trailer in the center; its insides silent. In front was a tall cracked pedestal where two parrots were curled into each other’s necks; asleep to the world beyond them. It was cute...and painful.

The prince turned to stare down the north side of the grassy hilltop and his eyes zeroed in on gray.

He gulped and just didn't think about the minutes after the bullet. When Haly had made his way to the balcony to find the monster who had entrapped him gone replaced by a human...cradling the boy he had raised hoping he had done good by Mary and John Grayson. Sure, the Prince had fought it but at the end of the day he had no reason to keep the body with him. Dick was gone and Haly would know him best. What he would want upon his death. 

The gray of a headstone lay between two others where the grass faded away into black stones and red dust.

The Flying Graysons all rested together. 

And he couldn't find the courage to go any closer. 

Turning sharply with a stomp the Prince quickly ran from the rent lot, the parrots jerked awake with squawks and a second brighter light came on inside the trailer. A shadow within turned cautiously towards the window but the Prince was long gone. 

His pace falling back into slow steps he stopped to catch his breath and aimed his glance on the far forest that would lead him back to the home he had stolen away from months before. How had things changed? He had left so fast...

For a moment he turned back around and looked back at the trailer in the distance. Many more lights had come on and a distinct shadow was making his way over the grassy hill towards the graves. Pop Haly then. He wanted to run back and talk with him. Find out things he hadn't known before. Certainly he would have stories to share about his godson but even if the Prince secretly wanted to surround himself in the atmosphere his love had grown up in, to know the slightest bit more of what he had missed, he couldn't bring himself to move back towards the rent grounds and face the pain. 

He thought back to his deal with the Enchantress and this time attempted to logic it out. 

Let his parents go?

How...did he...do that?

Let go…get over.

And it was only turning back to the forest with one more hesitant step that he realized he never had. 

[](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/MoonsettaRays/media/B%20and%20B/heart%20broken%20duo_zps52hzifim.png.html)


	5. Song as Old as Rhyme

The forest that hid Wayne Manor from the earlier days of Gotham City had always had an eerie ambiance to it that the Prince had been uncomfortable with. Even with the curse now gone and the lack of deadly wolf howls in the distance it didn’t feel much different in the present. The leaves were swaying violently from the northern winds that called in the fact that summer was now ending, winter was on its way and autumn had no qualms about getting a head start on coloring the green leaves red, brown and gold. None whatsoever. The lowest leaves were already spotting some shades of the warmer hues of green; all shadowed and beginning to show wrinkles of their inability to retain water. 

Veins frozen.

The Prince turned his gaze back down to the invisible path that he had left upon his rush from his home. It was no longer there.

He always had had a good memory. At least his parents had said that. Perhaps they hadn’t been just humoring him?

Still the path back to the Manor was only partially in his mind. Half of him didn’t care if he got lost. 

Suddenly a single wolf’s howl broke the air, shattering the possible good fortune that they had perhaps moved away from the forest since the curse had broken. 

Nope. Not that lucky.

Still, he stopped and listened closely.

It was a wolf’s howl but…

It was only one. One wolf howl that was clambering distractedly over the forest; confused and lonely. Not a single howl, call or cry reverberating back. He shook off the metaphor of loneliness and continued on his way, bending branches and tearing foliage out of his way as he hoped he was nearing his home. 

Or not. He wasn’t entirely certain of what he’d do when he got there. What was there to do?

Were there still places for royalty in this new society?

How much exactly had changed?

Did he reestablish his family’s rule of Gotham?

Should he just hide away there?

Surely the others had people to find, right? He recalled Alfred and Barbra searching for some type of family before the transformation.

Stopping and resting a hand on a spruce trunk he took three deep breaths of the dry air and reached the horrendous conclusion that he really didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. Any of this. This world, his world, had disappeared with his 15 year old self answering the door. He had been so foolish. It had been Alfred’s job to see to guests but he had been preoccupied for enough time for the young teen to become annoyed enough that he had taken the initiative instead. Had turned the old beggar woman away from mere dread at the sight of someone so disturbing his peace. 

His mistake. 

Stopping his thoughts, he leaned away from the spruce and continued his journey. 

The woods stretched on for miles and the endless lack of humanity-patched evidence shook him back to the days before his guest. When he let the animal take over and he would wake up to drained corpses clenched in his claws. It was always in the West Wing he opened his eyes to. Always the nearest piece of mostly stable furniture that became the victim of his claws. Always Alfred that accepted the task of venturing there to clean up the mess. 

The others. What would they say? Had they even remained at the Manor?

He had fled…

_  
“I’m sorry Master-wait what are you doing?”_

_“The one thing I should have done from the beginning. Find the Enchantress that caused this.”_

_“Sir what are you going to do when you find her? If you can even find her?”_

_“I’m with Alfred on this one,” Tim said, fingers dancing along the edge of his glasses._

_“I didn’t ask for opinions. I’m going.”_

_“So you’re just going to leave us here?” Jason yelled._

_“Do what you wish. I can’t live with this-so I need to fix it.”_

_Tim whispered, “It’s death. You can’t fix death.”_

_“The hell I can’t.”_

_“Master please, we understand that you’re hurt,” Alfred began._

_“We’re all hurt.” Jason included._

_“Perhaps we weren’t there how we should have been before but-“_

_“We’re here now!” Barbara chirped from behind her uncle._

_“No, this was my own fault. It wasn’t any of you and I need to be the one to fix it.”_

_“How do you know the Enchantress will even listen to you?” Jason demanded._

_“I have to try.”_

_“But Bru-“_

_“Goodbye.”  
_

More trees-nothing but more trees. He had always assumed that the magic had bled from the Manor into the woods, angered the wolves. Another side effect of the spell. Cast. Give him a bit of hope. Ensure it that the cure could never come to pass. That anyone who entered the woods would flee away from the Manor. Why had his parents decided to live so far away from the nearest town? 

His parents…

He violently shook away the thought. It wasn’t the time. He had to get back and figure out…

How to let go.

* * *

He didn’t find any wolves, only the sad aura of when birds were early on their migration flights that made him think far too much about snow and the heat of a living being. He’d step too close to where they roosted and they would speed away, fearful. Never mind that he was no longer a beast. Human hands, arms, legs, lack of fangs, claws or glowing eyes. It meant nothing to them. His mere presence scattered them to the wind. Much like…

No! He wouldn’t think it. Wouldn’t think of him.

Too late.

_  
“That was amazing,” the Beast growled lowly._

_Dick laughed, light and bright at his friend as made his way from the safety net to the parallel bars the Beast had perched himself on._

_“Thanks, the quad was my favorite. Mom and Dad could only ever do a triple but I wanted to impress them and said I’d have it ready within a year.”_

_“Did you?”_

_“Yep!” he chirped and draped himself over the parallel bars, leaning back slightly to stretch tired muscles. “On my 7th birthday.”_

_“You were seven?”_

_Dick laughed again and reached for the water bottle he had placed on the floor beside the bars, taking a long drink and sighing at parching his dry throat. Convinced his eyes would remain closed for a few moments more, the Beast eyes the young man’s throat and quickly licked his suddenly dry lips. He still had a phantom taste of the blood on his tongue though it had been over a month since he had made the mistake of hurting his companion._

_Still, the taste lingered. He could guess that it was part of the spell. The bloodlust of what he was._

_Dick licked his own lips as he brought the water bottle away and recapped it. He placed it back down by his feet before turning a bright smile towards his friend. The Beast couldn’t help how his frown changed. How his lips, parted by fangs, curled up automatically. It was so…easy. Took so little strength to accomplish._

_Happiness. It was so…easy._

_How? How was it this easy?_

_It had never been this easy. With the nightmares, the memories, the trauma._

_It had NEVER been easy but now-it was. Was it really because of one person?_

_“You’re somewhere else again,” Dick pointed out._

_The Beast righted his posture and muttered, “Sorry.”_

_“Don’t be. You’re a thinker.”_

_“Hm?”_

_“You’re smart.”_

_“Oh…”_

_He wasn’t certain if the blush could be seen as Dick reached forward to take his hand._

_“Come on. I want to try Devil’s Dive again. I need someone to catch me.”_

_“Catch?”_

_“That’s what partners do!”  
_

Fading out of his thoughts, the Prince blinked away the cloud of mental chaos to find a close barrage of interwoven leaves blocking his view. Reaching up he could see the past, in the image of claws that flashed over his now pale, bare hand as they curled into the greenery and in the absolute aura of silence that had draped itself over the bright manor a mere short walk from him. No shadows. No spell. No storm.

Just silence.

His home was waiting. 

He hated his hands.

He needed to let them go.

Cotton in his throat he released the leaves, ignoring when they slapped him in the face and took his first few steps. He had no grasp of time and the return to what-was was not helping. Still, he pushed on and walked forward towards the cast iron gate. Glancing up he let his eyes take in the stylized W that was welded into the center. Something in his mind told him he used to be proud of it for some reason. Something to do with his family…something he still couldn’t remember. His parents had been the only ones left in his family so he was obviously forgetting nothing.

[](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/MoonsettaRays/media/B%20and%20B/style%20w_zpslahtvqya.png.html)

It was late-he was tired. 

Taking a deep breath, he raised his now human hands to the gate and pushed it open. The bridge to the front door was still the same, it had been cleaned diligently since he had departed apparently as he spotted few chips in the stone and a notable lack of mold. It had to have been Alfred then. He took his first steps on the walkway in months and listened to the gate close behind him with a slow creak. And he suddenly stopped.

He didn’t want to do this.

He didn’t want to go back. He didn’t want to let his parents go. He didn’t want to weep for the man he loved and lost. He didn’t want the spell back. He didn’t want his parents lying dead in an alleyway to be etched into his mind forever. 

He wanted to be happy, safe and loved.

But somehow, somewhere, something happened. He did something and this was what life had dealt him.

He had to force each step to the door. He even thought of actually knocking until he remembered he lived there. At least, he did at one point. It strangely didn’t feel like home any longer. And he wasn’t happy.

Forcing open the door with much more force than necessary he breathed in and coughed at dust he was surprised to find floating out and around him. Finally clearing his lungs, he gazed in at the Manor his family had coveted for generations and his jaw snapped shut. It was dark…it was so dark.

Servants that had once waited by the doorway for his return were absent. Both humans and objects. 

Well, it wasn’t like he had warned them he would be returning. He had run off after all. 

Stepping inside and not listening to the doors as they closed behind him he tried to breathe. He took note that the air seemed a bit…dustier than usual. Had even Alfred left? Too fed up with his stubbornness to remain and wait for him? Perhaps he and Barbara had left to locate their own family. Everyone would have wanted to. 

Tim had a father before the spell, Jason a mother and Helena had a mentor…somewhere. Everyone had someone out there. 

…Except him apparently. 

He stopped three steps into the foyer and reached under his jacket once again, his fingers curling over the handle of the enchanted mirror. It would only show him one scene now and he didn’t want to see it. Never again.

…But it suddenly hit him that he would HAVE to…eventually…

He had to go to the attic, where he tossed everything from before. Everything he hadn’t destroyed in his first few days of rage at the transformation. If he had any hope of completing the Enchantress’ wishes he have to-

With that he began walking. However, he never made it to attic.

He found himself outside of Dick’s room. His breath caught in his throat when he took in the black ribbon tied around the pair of door handles. Strange, he never noticed the tiny caricature of birds carved into the far corners of each door. He didn’t dare reach for them though. Too many thoughts-not that staring at the door wasn’t giving him any either. 

He reached out and clasped the door handles, only now noticing that his hands were shaking. He couldn’t seem to stop himself though. There was an inane urge to be inside any space that had held his spirit at some point. That he could be with him somehow beyond life and death. There was no time to stop and debate any, his hands appeared to be moving on their own. In no time he was stepping inside, turning to close the doors and lock them behind him. He breathed more dust and clamped his eyes shut. 

They hadn’t been inside since Dick’s death.

His hands were shaking more now. They were beginning to burn and itch. 

With that notice he quickly turned but his eyes couldn’t raise themselves to take in the room-they landed on the white carpet instead. Dusty, pure white had faded to some light hue of ivory. A pity, it had once reminded him of the song he and his mother would sing on winter nights around Christmas.

However, there was a new memory there now that came to mind.

_He dropped his quickly constructed snowball on his own head, smile lighting his face when he heard Dick laugh._

_“Alright, that’s it!” he growled at the young man._

_Dick only laughed again, his face turning pink from either the cold or his own joy as he leaned against the tree in the snowed-in garden out back with a hand against his stomach._

_“You’re gonna get it!”_

_The Beast raised his claws in mock attack and Dick’s eyes opened and then grew wide before a grin broke across his face and he shot off towards a snow bank with even more laughter. The Beast ran after him, catching up just as his companion reached the bank and deliberately fell down into the puffy snow._

_“Got you now!” he growled playfully, standing over him._

_Dick looked up and mockingly threw a hand up over his head, “Oh please sir, spare me!”_

_They both laughed and the Beast found that he was forgetting again. Forgetting claws and fangs and blood. Feeling so much more human. Lost in his thoughts and joy he didn’t see the smirk cross Dick’s face before two legs had wrapped around one of his own and he had face planted into the snow to the sounds of even louder laughter._

_“Hey!” he protested, raising up onto his knees and gazing over at the man he was falling for. “No fair.”_

_Dick shrugged and said, “I don’t think so. Pretty sure you still have an advantage my friend.”_

_“Oh do I?”_

_With that he pounced on the man, both of them falling back into the snow bank, mush and ice crystals flying up and over the duo as they struggled for the advantage. The Beast won of course, pinning his…friend beneath him into the snow. And Dick was still smiling and laughing. Having a happy glow that was downright contagious. Stopping to catch their breaths, the Beast pulled away just a little bit. He didn’t want to seem pretentious. It was up to his companion if he wanted the physical contact or not._

_Even if…_

_…my friend…_

_Even if his heart was racing when Dick opened his bright blue eyes and stared up at him in something that wasn’t quite happiness but no longer just contempt. His heart raced even more when they fell into silence and just looked into each other’s eyes. It was quite amazing how powerful that stare was. The Beast was slightly trembling, his heart picking up even more speed, his mouth dried out and he couldn’t breathe. Dick’s wide grin had grown small and soft staring up at him._

_For the Beast he found himself fighting a new urge. There were familiar urges he understood. The animalistic urge to hunt, the dark urge to drink of lifeblood, the urge to fight when cornered, the urge to stretch his wings after sundown from his own balcony, the urge to defend the prospect of a potential…mate during the wolf attack._

_But this urge…he wanted to…he wanted to lower his face to Dick’s and seal his lips over his. He wanted it! He wanted it so badly!_

_Was he falling deeper into…love?_

_Was it the same thing he had been missing for years? Was it what he had lost in that back alley 17 years ago? Was it right here?_

_His racing heart, the trembling claws, his dry mouth and short breathing all stopped when Dick reached up and placed a hand on the side of his face. Over the stretched out and dried out skin. He was still smiling at him too._

_“Thank you,” Dick whispered. “I’ve had so much fun today.”_

_He thinks his jaw dropped off and landed in the snow somewhere and he’d have a heck of a time trying to find it later. He only got said breath back when a finger ran under his right eye._

_His full, blood red eyes. No pupil, no cornea, no distinct design of being human. And Dick was acting like they weren’t frightening to look into._

_And despite his fear and his self-loathing he still wanted that kiss._

_Dick breathed out a sigh and pulled himself away from his companion, his hand falling from the Beast’s face as he moved back out from under his friend to stand up on his own. The Beast followed slowly, eyes locked on his form still trying to believe-_

_And got another snowball to the face!  
_

The Prince laughed as he finally raised his face to stare at the room before him. He didn’t see the torn ribbon at his feet, simply stepped over it as the smile still clung to his face. Until he reached the bed and reality hit him again.

-Because Dick was dead from a bullet to the chest. A bullet meant for him. Was lying cold beneath a cold gray stone back in cold Gotham. Between his parents with a mourning godfather gazing at the stones-wondering where he went wrong. 

The Prince fell to his knees beside the bed and reached out to clench his hands into fists around the thin fabric. It was just as dusty as the remainder of the room but he couldn’t bring himself to care very much. He leaned down pressing his forehead into the cloth. Again, he missed one aspect of his Beast-form. If he still had the carnal sense of smell he might have picked up a familiar scent of his companion in the cold cloth. 

-Cold.

As cold as the corpse he had clutched tightly before an enraged Pop Haly had wrestled away the body and cried his own tears, muttering a prayer to John and Mary that he had failed.

Haly. 

He wondered if Dick’s godfather felt like this. What was it like to lose your child? Was it anything like this? Anything like losing the one you wanted to be with? A mate? A partner?

Why couldn’t he think?

He opened moist eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed and stared down at the sheet, coughing a bit at the dust. The sheet was a dark eggshell shade. And he tried to avoid the memory returning again. Focused on a different one from long ago. A different Christmas.

_“Ready sweetie?”_

_“Yes mother.”_

_“Sleigh bells ring_  
_Are you listening_  
_In the lane_  
_Snow is glistening_  
_A beautiful sight,_  
_We're happy tonight_  
_Walking in a winter wonderland”_

_He smiled up at his mother as she turned him around on top of her own feet in the foyer while they waited for his father’s return. And he began singing his own part of the song just as the door opened and he spotted his father carrying in two armfuls of gifts._

_“Gone away, is the blue bird_  
_Here to stay, is the new bird_  
_He sings a love song,_  
_As we go along_  
_Walking in a winter wonderland”_

And with those words the memory vanished and was replaced with another. 

_“It is the season of the heart_  
_A special time of caring_  
_The ways of love made clear_  
_It is the season of the spirit_  
_The message, if we hear it_  
_Is make it last all year”_

_His ears picked over at the sound of Dick singing in the library. What was-?_

_He was even more surprised when he heard Barbara chime in with:_  
_“It's in the giving of a gift to another_  
_A pair of mittens that were made by your mother.”_

_Then they chorused together:_  
_“It's all the ways that we show love_  
_That feel like Christmas”_

_More voices joined in and the Beast could swear he heard Tim and Jason mixed in with the voices._  
_“A part of childhood we'll always remember_  
_It is the summer of the soul in December_  
_Yes, when you do your best for love_  
_It feels like Christmas”_

_Suddenly the voices quit and fell to humming._

_“You can come in you know!” Dick called out to him._

_The Beast could only open the door and smile sheepishly. The mock-choir were gathered around the largest table, a number of books laid out across them._

_“Come on don’t be a Scrooge!”_

_He would have lifted an eyebrow had he had any. “What’s a Scrooge?”_

_Dick had been so affronted that he had never read or seen A Christmas Carol and they spent the evening, each member of the house, sharing their favorite versions of the story._

_“With a loving guarantee_  
_That even if we part_  
_I will hold you close in a thankful heart.”_

The Prince’s eyes shot open and he could only lift his head and stare out at the empty air. Why was this happening? Why was one memory fading and the other filling his heart with sorrow and joy at the same time?

He couldn’t do this. 

Memories with Dick were taking over those of his parents but no-he wasn’t replacing them! He would never!

He released his death hold on the bed sheets and reached inside his jacket for the mirror. The memory-he needed the memory as bad as it was. 

Unfortunately, it was a mistake. His eyes found the frozen picture of two still bodies in the distance but his mind reminded him of the cold body he had held not long ago.

He couldn’t do this; his hands were shaking again. He was losing his breath again. He had never taken a violent hand to the magic mirror during his self-imposed exile but he did now, he flung it towards the wall and heard glass shatter. He got to his feet and he ran-

Out the door, down the hallway…somewhere. Anywhere.

He didn’t hear Alfred’s voice. He didn’t feel the sudden change in temperature of the cooling summer night as he found his way back outside. He felt but ignored branches pulling at his shirt as he broke through the greenery of the forest. He didn’t’ get far though before he stopped and fell to his knees in the brush.

“I can’t do it,” he muttered. “I can’t do it!”

For a long minute nothing existed outside of his own breathing. Until…he heard something familiar. A familiar growl was emanating from the bush to his right. Haunted eyes turning, he could only stare in horror and a strange acceptance as a large, gray wild wolfhound crept from the bushes, it’s yellow eyes flashing with murderous intent. 

Perhaps, the wolf was an animal after all, perhaps it remembered scent or aura-something that told it who he was. Perhaps it was remembering the slaughter of its own kind by his own claws. 

The screams of prisoners in the tower fading when weeks past after they failed to love him.

The new prisoner begging to at least send a message to his godson.

The squirrel struggling as his fangs dug into the defenseless creature’s stomach. 

The claws against darkened skin and the taste of desired lifeblood.

The bodies of a wolf pack lying together in the frozen snow.

The assassin Slade gasping as the sliver of stone pierced his chest before plummeting to his death.

What was he anymore?

Beast. Man. Prince. Bruce. Wayne. Monster. Vampire. Creature. Lonely. Child. Lost.

The wolf reared back with a growl and launched itself at his throat. 

He reached his hands up to cover his head and throat but accepted the attack. Perhaps it was better this way. Better that he just-

But the attack didn’t come. He dropped his hands and glanced over at the wolf who was now sitting up straight and very calmly watching him.

“What?” he whispered.

“Pathetic.”

Had that wolf just…spoken?

He could only watch in awe as the wolf’s form began to glow as it pawed the ground twice. In a move that was too familiar he watched the form stretch up and out until he was once again, on his knees before the Enchantress.

“The only thing that was stopping you from being happy was yourself Wayne. You made the choices to push others away instead of turning to them for comfort. This is the future where it ends for you. On your knees, lost in the dark-alone forever. Is that what you want? What you truly want?”

“…I’ll give anything…” he begged.

“Except overcoming your own flaws or getting better.”

“…pl-please…I can’t do it. I can’t.”

The magi sneered down at him and sighed before making her decision. “You’ll lose him again. This man you learned to love-if you remain on your current path. I’d only be repeating history, but if you insist then this will be the final time you and I meet. When you lose him again-you will lose him forever.”

His eyes grew wide as he glanced up and stared back at her.

She raised her wand and he felt the envelope he had been keeping close for so long lift out of his jacket and float between them. The paper envelope went up in flames and for a moment he panicked until he saw the remainder of the stem floating between them as the paper ashes were swept away in a magic wind. He almost even spoke until he was silenced as the Enchantress was muttering under her breath and the lone brown twig was growing green. Two leaves rose from the sides of the stem. A bud a stood up from the top and slowly bloomed out into the rose that had signaled his eternity for so long. 

[](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/MoonsettaRays/media/B%20and%20B/rose%20new_zpsp5s9fetr.png.html)

It was back.

“And you accept the consequences-whatever they may be?” the Enchantress asked. 

He nodded and she took the rose up into her hand, stroking a single petal before offering it to the Prince. This time, in this story-he accepted it. 

It wasn’t until his hand closed around the steam-the offer on his tongue the one he should have given ten years ago- that he realized the rose had a new addition. Thorns bit into his skin and he felt the magic overcoming him. His vision went white and he knew nothing. 

“He’s waiting for you in your room. Give him the rose.”

He couldn’t tell where the Enchantress’ voice came from but when he finally came to he found his claw wasn’t bleeding from the thorns. His skin was much too tough.

Consequences.

“Enjoy your curse,” the wind whispered. “You now have eternity.”

He got up, bit his fangs into his lower lip and flared out his wings as his torn clothes fell to his feet.

There wasn’t any time to waste.


	6. Beauty and the Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, it's been forever. Here ya go!

He tried not to think, just feel. Though focusing on sensation made him think too and in the end it didn’t help. He'd thought too much and he'd felt too much; but he couldn’t bring himself to care for anything beyond the rose in his hand and the still figure in his bed. The Prince had to look though. He had to ensure the rose was still perfect; that everything was not a dream. Not along the nightmares he first had when he was 15 and met the consequences of his ways; but where if he was too much of one thought or emotion he felt he would crush the life in his claws. 

Yes, claws, folded over on one another around the thin stem of the object that had once been his personal torture but was now a lifeline for his love. It was beautiful and clashed horribly against the once again, blackened skin of his claws. Each of which were dark and dusty as coal. He supposed the contrast of the lightened blue rose might have gifted him some warmth and it did-if only he hadn't needed to-

No! He shook the thought from his head and glanced up and away from the rose and his musings. 

The hallway of the West Wing was dark, as it had been long before-would continue to be as it lacked windows, lighting and very few people were allowed even near his rooms. Until he knew this would work.

The area was still tidied up from where the household had given it a recreating during...their final night.

The Prince swallowed the lump in his throat and continued his steps forward. The entire Manor had been quiet upon his return. So much that he might have assumed it deserted if his once again enhanced hearing hadn't picked up the distant sound of Alfred scrubbing pots and pans in the kitchen. 

Finally reaching his bedroom's doors he took only a moment to appreciate that they were open and freshly dusted before he took a deep breath and stepped inside. 

It didn't look that much different from what he remembered. The reconstructed furniture, the repainted walls and replaced carpet beneath his feet. The room was still built of a perimeter of sitting furniture, cushioned chairs, love seats and even a small informal dining set with a recently washed tablecloth over a wood stained garden table. The far wall hosted two clusters of bookshelves and a lowered floor covered in thin polished marble to reflect light and center a pair of dancers. It wasn't nearly as grand as the ballroom downstairs but it would do for more personal interactive dances. The floor was now colored in warm dark tan and the walls a very light blue. 

And last but not least...the bed.

It was something grand. An extra-large king with a grand canopy, embellished designs of redwood, gold and blue marble, and optional drop curtains; mattresses stuffed with down and overlain by sheets of silk and blankets of Egyptian cotton. 

-No expense had been spared. Even if the still body lying atop it crushed the entire world the objects had been attempting to convey. 

Dick Grayson. Still. Silent. Shale.

None of it was right but the Prince, now a Beast again, glanced down at the rose and forced hope out from somewhere. It had to work; they had a deal. Besides, the Enchantress had said that she wouldn't be far. Had said that she'd be watching.

Holding his breath, he quickly shuffled forward and bent over to lay the glowing rose over Dick's still heart.

  
[](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/MoonsettaRays/media/B%20and%20B/sequels%20scene3_zps2mageldb.jpg.html)

* * *

There were many incarnations of the tales people brought back from the afterlife. Everything from an eternity of complete darkness, to amnesia, from a fantasy paradise to utter abominations of one’s worst nightmares crafted by devils.

…Of course it had to be different for Dick Grayson. 

Death was a rather warm thing strangely. Which he had never thought of once during his life. Big oversight in philosophy. It had been a single-welcoming thing when the Beast had vanished behind the darkness that had taken his vision as easily as death had taken his heartbeat. He had fought but some invisible wind had stolen his breath before his lips could shape the words he needed to say. He hoped, as he passed on, that his best friend had heard him somehow.

Now he hoped that there was no true countdown to the warmth that death had provided for him. He was all too aware what had happened, that he had in fact saw the bullet rip through the Beast’s wing before and then felt it pierce his chest. He didn’t have to guess a second shot by Slade Wilson. Though the night of his…departure had been dark and stormy enough to sway a hunter’s sight off a target, the effectiveness of his weapon was sturdy as it has always been.

So he knew. Knew too well. And he had had his wondering period. Wondering about the Beast, the Manor’s living objects, Pop Haly and even Slade. He even spent some time wondering if this was an opportunity to see his parents once again but there was never anything more than the warmth. It had its own comfort because if there was never anything else-then there were no surprises and it wasn’t bad. It was a warmth that never faded. Peaceful. One could sink into it and live eternally in death. 

It explained so many metaphors that he had heard throughout his life. 

Of course life decided it obviously wasn’t done with him. Because…he didn’t know.

Life. Life was darkness and absolute chill. At least life was when one was yanked painfully back into it. And he was questioning through the pain encompassing him just how he was aware of it. He hadn’t known anything about life and death before but this was somehow now stitched into his mind as his body flinched violently and everything came back online. Lungs expanded, muscles stretched and shrunk, bones grew stronger and cartilage slipped back inside them. Blood rushed like geysers through his veins, water leaked into his eyes, his nose was pulled out into shape with more cartilage shaping it back into existence, his joints knocked in and stiffened before snapping out and muscles wrapped themselves around the rotary cuffs. His spine snapped straight before bowing back as he moaned from the pain. He could even feel the follicles of his hair being pulled out to replace what had been lost. Then the veins burrowed their ways around bone and through muscles, much more pain as it literally felt like hundreds of small worm-like parasites were burying themselves into his body. His dried tongue swelled, darting out to lick his lips back to life and ears began burning. 

He was hearing things he couldn’t understand. 

Oh crap it was painful!

Every breath was a moan of pain. Because his organs were now growing back inside. Like Toby the clown had gone mad scientist and decided to stick balloons inside of him and then inflate them. The intestines twisted themselves every which way to fit into his burning lower abdomen as they continued to grow. Every organ followed, burning hotter with each moment. 

This pain could kill him!

Skin. Skin had to be the absolute worst. It placed itself layer by layer. First like a smothering blanket of burning sulfur the next wrapping itself over the first, trapping veins and muscles to the bones, then another sulfur burnt blanket and yet another wrap. It continued until the seventh and final layer lay itself over his body. Finally, his lungs collapsed for a long, frightening moment and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t breathe! He could try moving or opening his eyes but-

And it hit him.

The heart grew back.

-But it grew back wrong because he could still feel it. His heart was there, burning him like molten lava from the inside out and he felt his chest warm with new blood that quickly dried over. However, it was still there. Inside, the bullet rested as it had for however long he had been in death. His lungs expanded once again and his heart beat two pathetic beats before his lungs collapsed once again and the organ of love gave out.

Great! He hadn’t made it…

Well, he had given it his best shot. Hopefully everyone was OK and something hadn’t been pulling him back due to some kind of disaster. 

The horrid thing about being trapped somewhere between life and death was that you were aware of time all too literally. He actually counted out an hour of time and then started working mentally on poetry that only proved he would never make a living from it. Oh well, what to do? He wasn’t aware of anything around him-just time. Though he wasn’t certain he was aware of how he knew his body wasn’t decomposing; was somehow…frozen? Suspended? 

Now magic he understood even if he wasn’t very experienced with it but he had been told the horror stories from as far back as his days as a toddler. Delving into raising the dead was messy, painful and dangerous. It was why magi didn’t do it. So, how was this happening? Had some witch or banshee decided to get involved? Because there was no way technology was doing this.

He didn’t hear Wayne Manor creaking around him, feet rushing back and forth along corridors, the sudden silence as a single figure opened the door and walked towards him. He did finally feel something though. He was aware of the hole in his chest and felt the slight itching sensation as petals laced with magic met the still open wound of a human bullet. 

Then…

His damaged heart erupted; lava flew out of his chest and spilled over his lips while the bullet dissolved and the flesh of his chest closed itself inward around the remainder of the rose-the stem buried deep within next to the bullet.

And then his very first breath back in the mortal world escaped his throat as a groan of pain. Unbeknownst to him was the emptiness of the place he had begun to think of as home, the nervously shifting creature standing beside him and the beginning of light stretching into the room from the open balcony doors as the sun peeked up beyond the horizon. 

He finally-finally opened his eyes-large pools of glowing red were burrowing back into his.

[ ](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/MoonsettaRays/media/B%20and%20B/eyes_zpspnlbsmqd.png.html)

* * *

For the Beast he would be the first to admit that this was perhaps very foolish. The Enchantress had always been a villain in his mind. Why would she help him? Why give him anything? 

After he set the rose down on the body that would have clearly been alive if there had been moving air or blood within his veins he stepped back and waited. He clenched his claws against his palms and welcomed the sting as they pierced the top layer of skin but drew no blood.

The problem here was that the Enchantress’ gifts came with their own prices and there was little doubt in his mind that simply cursing him again as a vampire for eternity was the minimal cost she would demand for crossing the barriers of life and death. There simply had to be more to it than that. Had to be.

What were those things had she had said before?

_"Really? What would you give? Your own life? No. Then there's no chance for your little diluted Happily Ever After."_

_"What else? I can't cast the same spell twice. Perhaps you'd enjoy a curse instead? I can make it last for eternity right here, right now."_

_"Sure you don't want to think about that? What if I give him life and decide he's better off having never known you?"_

_"Who said I would I make it that easy?"_

He dismissed the first option. She wouldn’t have wasted the magic changing him or enchanting the rose if he was to just drop dead soon. Besides, she was too vengeful to let him leave the world so quickly. Besides, he now bore a curse, Happily Ever After had only been a possible future for a short time before what he loved was ripped away once again. 

The curse, he assumed that’s ultimately what she had decided on. He now wore it as a second skin but it didn’t seem like the end to him. He would have faced a similar fate if Dick had never come into his life. Eternity as this was horribly true but it didn’t feel like a loss-more like he was back at square one. He somehow knew it wasn’t enough.

Dick awakening from death having never known him? That somehow felt it would be the ultimate repercussion of her vengeance. Still, he could do it again. After all, hadn’t he proven that he could be more human than beast? Hadn’t he proven that he could love another and could earn their love in return? 

He couldn’t help the growl escaping his lip as he continued to stare at the still body as the rose began glowing brighter.

Hadn’t he proven that he could break the spell!?

Hadn’t he done all of that and…and it left him with nothing? Nothing but the echoing sound of a bullet piercing flesh and the sight of joyful life draining from blue eyes…for the THIRD TIME IN HIS LIFE? 

He stopped short and took a deep breath.

Again. He could do it again. He could. But what would even be the point?! Earning his love again wouldn’t break a spell or a curse! It wouldn’t do anything because this transformation was permanent now!

Except…

He had already learned to love-he was still in love. That was the big difference. Still, he couldn’t go about it as he had before. If Dick had forgotten him when he awakened, he would do everything he could to make the young man love him again. He wouldn’t keep him here. He would let him go again. He would visit him in Gotham City, they would build up everything from small, seemingly insignificant meetings whenever the Beast could grab a moment of his time. 

Besides-he had all the time in the world to do that now. 

He glanced down at the sound of the once still body taking in the first deep breath of life and without thought he knelt down to lean over his love. More than anything-he needed to see life in those eyes again. He had seen it drain out too many times before.

* * *

Dick Grayson learned one weird thing about being pulled out of death by magic. Besides it being the worst pain he had ever felt in his life that was!

Everything was blue. Blue. Just blue. 

And he let himself mentally ask if that had anything to do with his own blue eyes or if it was just a magi thing? Could have just been that when one awakened from death the first glimpses of the world were simply shaded by whatever color one’s eyes were. It would make about as much sense as anything he had run into lately.   
Still the blue cleared up pretty quickly-only active for a short few seconds before all of the world’s colors returned and forced him to blink several times to clear away random black and white spots. 

And cliché as it was-he heart leapt another level into life when he took in the form leaning over him.

“Beast,” he rasped, hot cotton scraping against the inner walls of his throat with his first attempt to speak.

The glowing red eyes widened in shock and relief before the softness of what he assumed to be a bed beneath him vanished and he was suddenly spinning-forcing up a glob of something from his stomach that tasted acidic. Gasping a few times, he licked his lips still attempting to gather his senses about him. Yet-he didn’t manage much progress before he felt something crash onto his lips. A sound escaped his throat as whatever had fought its way up from his stomach suddenly dropped again and the acidic taste vanished. His eyes settled again after the dizzying spin and he finally caught up to the moment. He was with his Beast-who had taken him into his arms as if he were little more than a baby bird. But unlike the times before when they had flown from the highwire or the winds about the Manor they had never-

Never held him so tightly and had NEVER…

Kissed him.

He had a lot of questions. What happened? How was he alive? What happened to Slade? Was everyone OK? Were the citizens of Gotham still hunting the Beast? How long had he been…gone? Where was Pop?

But the Beast was kissing him. He felt the Beast shift slightly and pull him that bit closer-deepening the kiss. Dick felt his hands shaking but he managed to reach up and curl one over the Beast’s shoulder. With the increased pressure though he felt the fangs pressing into his lips, piercing to let blood flow. And true to his nature the Beast’s tongue quickly lapped at the droplets before he pulled away with a singular gasp-eyes wide in the realization of what he had just done. 

As for the recently revived Flying Grayson-he needed another minute to catch up. Which became even harder when the Beast hurriedly put him back down on the bed as he was attempting to get his lungs working properly again. The sudden stop didn’t exactly help. At least the mattress was soft though.

Once he had his breath somewhat under control he cleared his throat and looked up at his friend and would have laughed if he wasn’t so certain he had in fact been dead perhaps not even two minutes ago. 

Because the red-eyed fierce vampire master of the shadowed Manor he had known for so long was looking everywhere but at him, shifting from foot to foot, clicking his claws together, biting his lower lip, folding his ears back and semi-hiding behind one of his wings. It was like Dick imagined a vampire child would act after it’s parents found it sneaking a treat from the blood cookie jar. 

And wow-he was clearly having some kind of spiritual transcendence if he was already making vampire-jokes even if it was only mentally. 

He took a deep breath and let his head flop backwards onto a flat pillow with a perfectly timed thump. He raised a shaky hand and managed a short and scratchy:

“What-happened?”

“Water.” The Beast suddenly stood up straight and stopped his fidgeting. “You need water.”

“Uh…that’d be-“

_Whoosh!_

And he was gone. “…nice.”

OK then. Dick managed to get himself sitting up, that ended with him hitting his head on the acutely named headboard. “Ow.”

Rubbing the sore spot on his skull with a still shaking hand he glanced around and finally recognized the room he was in. He had been in the Beast’s chambers a few times-he had even sat on this bed once. Yet, it was different. He recalled that the Beast had allowed the Manor’s staff to finally clean the rooms up but the bedroom now looked strangely more similar to the first time Dick had seen in-when he had wondered what the Beast had been hiding in the West Wing. Things were broken and dusty again. The bed was intact but very dusty and somewhat damp-as if the window had been left open for so long that morning dew had found a comfortable home in the very fabric. With that thought he finally glanced towards the window and saw that one side was hanging on by merely a thread-in fact he thinks he remembered that being his fault when he had rushed after Slade. However, he was certain that the other side of the balcony window had not been on the floor in pieces layered with a blanket of dust.

He looked along the other side of the room where the Beast had just left through the door and spotted what must have once been the portrait he remembered gazing at. It was on the floor and in pieces much like the broken glass but scattered and torn into many more and pushed into the corner behind the door, as if someone-the Beast he guessed- had taken to trying to rid it of even existing.

Tired of the room he glanced down at himself and tried to wrap his head around the fact that he had been wearing something black. It was still in semi-decent condition as it only faded into thread bareness near his hands and feet-though he noticed he wasn’t wearing socks or shoes of any kind. Everything else looked the same though. Skin was the same shade, muscles had the same definition and though his hands were shaky he appeared to be in possession of all of his limbs, fingers and toes.

This was good. 

He had to glare at his shaky hand though as he raised it to his chest. Unlike the rest of his body, something about it felt…off. Like there was something there and it felt a little tingly-like static electricity. And it wasn’t until his hand made contact with the skin covering his heart that it came to light. He was feeling the after effects of…

“Magic,” he whispered aloud. 

His breath caught and dropped into his stomach. 

Death. Magic. 

He had been brought back to life with Magic. 

…No. What had the Beast done?

This was not good.

* * *

The Beast, because it was what he was now-was shaking just as much. 

Dick Grayson was alive! He remembered him!

The worst hadn’t happened!

Yet-yet the Beast had been so taken up in the moment had had forgotten. Forgotten that while he admitted to loving his companion on the doorstep of death, the sentiment hadn’t been returned and he had no right to touch, hold or…kiss the younger man. Not without permission at the very least. 

“Master!”

The Beast blinked away from where he had been staring at the kitchen wall and glanced beside him. Alfred Pennyworth stood there, face troubled and a million questions on his face.

He wished he had stayed long enough to get used to the sight of Alfred’s human form again after he had known the enchanted form for so long. In fact-

“Where’s Barbara?”

The elderly butler’s eyebrow drew downward and he quietly said, “With her father, in Gotham City.”

The Beast could help the little moment of shock running through him. He knew that Barbara had been sent to her uncle temporarily by her mother but as a 15-year-old teenager already determined to go through with his plans he had had little interest in the girl when she had first arrived-little interest even during the spell. It was good that she was with her father though. Yet-

“How did he react? Your brother?”

Alfred scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest with a short: “Emotionally.”

The Beast could only nod. “Of course.”

“Master, may I receive an explanation? Last I saw you were human again.” His face fell. “What happened? Did you succeed?”

And that was when he remembered.

“Water.”

“You’re thirsty?”

“No. I-I had a drink.”

_A few drops of blood._

“Then why do you need water?”

“Alfred I-I found her. The Enchantress.”

“And did you-?”

“…He’s thirsty.”

“Oh my…”


End file.
